Rise of the Heroes
by Thor
Summary: A Werewolf: The Apocalypse tale about the role of heroes. Ch. 1 - a pack embarks on a seemingly simple mission whilst a battered tribe of Black Spirals struggles to reclaim old glories.
1. Chapter 1 New Faces Old Songs

Greetings o reader. This is just a brief introduction to allow me too babble momentarily - please feel free to skip ahead to the actual story. I've been looking forward to getting this story published up here. It is a sequel of my earlier Fall of the Heroes story and contains a continuation of that storyline and features many of the same characters. That said, this story *does not* obligate you to have read the first adventure (not that I'll stop you if you wish to read and review, of course, I'll take my cheap plugs where I can get them!). Perhaps I'll have some more interesting thoughts to offer up at the start of next chapter (that does. of course, presume I even *have* interesting thoughts...) but for now I think I'm just excited to get the prologue and first chapter up, since hopefully that will prove a useful catalyst to drive me onward in finishing up this story. Thanks in advance for your time if you read any part of this, hopefully it will be good enough to interest you to show up when I get chapter 2 up. Regards, Thor.

**Rise of the Heroes: A Tale of Detroit**

**Prologue: The Claiming of Blades**

Overlooking the city of Detroit from a comfortable distance to the northwest just shy of the Canadian border is a jutting range of mountains. Their towering peaks reached high into the blue-gray skies. They were often ignored by the humans who lived in the sprawling metropolis or the many smaller suburbs and towns that nestled around their bases, but the local government had long had a hand in affecting the large nature preserves and state parks that make up the bulk of the range.

One such preserve is of especial interest. There is only one road that winds up through ancient cliff cuts and teeters along narrow byways with deep plunging drops on either side. The ragged dirt road eventually gives way entirely at a small ranger's station and general store that has been run by the same family for generations. To go any further into the mountains from this point, one has to go on foot.

If one were to know the way, and was to follow a sparkling riverbed they could find something truly amazing. Far up, near the very tip of the mountain is a triple waterfall that cascades and crashes down in a roaring stream more then one hundred feet long. Nestled around the base of this waterfall is a ragtag collection of huts and cabins, all built by hand from the materials of the mountain itself, and designed to be hidden from all but the most intent of aerial observation.

This is the Caern of The Raging Falls.

Founded nearly two hundred years ago it is populated by the Garou of the Detroit area. The Garou, perhaps better known in common parlance as werewolves, are a secretive race dedicated to the preservation of the natural order of things and to the worship of the essence of the Earth, the Mother Spirit, Gaia. Their ancient battle is one of a spiritual nature given physical form. Their foe is The Wyrm, a spiritual concept involving decay and destruction. Its servants are set upon the world with the desire to corrupt and destroy it. The Garou are the defenders appointed by Gaia to protect her creations from this threat.

Currently a young werewolf sat in a pool of polished stone, worn smooth from the punishing stream of water that even now pounded around him with the force of striking stones. He was a young man; his muscular and broad shoulders seemed to bear the pounding of the water with calm forbearance. His bare flesh was well tanned but tinged slightly blue from the harsh chill of the fresh mountain water that had been gushing down upon him for well over eight hours. Numerous scars cut across his chest and arms, most notably a pair of cuts on his right cheek that formed a lopsided 'X' that traced down to just under his narrow jaw. His sandy blonde hair was soaked and dripping as it danced and shook under the impact of the falls.

In front of him was the reason for his meditation. Sitting upon a rock ten paces in front of him and glistening with a fine sheen of moisture was his klaive. A klaive was a special ritual blade of the Garou, crafted with the express purpose of serving to slay other Garou. It was a great honor and a heavy burden to be chosen to carry a klaive, and the rare blades were often imbued with many powers to help those who were found worthy of bearing them in battle.

That was his purpose here.

The blade was known as Bonespur, and despite his inability to see it clearly through the blinding sheets of water that beat at him constantly he could remember every inch of it as though its image had been burned into his memory. The klaive was carved from a large bone into the shape of a large and slightly curved dagger. The handle had only slight bony protrusions for a hilt and had been wrapped tightly with a thick leather cord to provide a solid grip during the violence of combat. Etched into the face of each side of the blade was an intricate rune of the Garou tongue, each rune had been filled with silver so that they flashed and caught the light. The rune on one side stood for duty, and the other for death; the twin obligations of the Garou to Gaia and a reminder of the laws the klaive enforced and the price it exacted from those found wanting.

Charlie had been handed the blade by its previous owner, Dominic 'Rends-the-Darkness' Winford, shortly before the legendary warrior had died forcing a mighty Wyrm spirit back into the darkness from which it had been summoned. But even though Dominic had wanted Charlie to wield Bonespur after him there were many challenges to overcome. The first was that most Garou would find it improper to leave such a potent weapon with such an honorable legacy to one so young and inexperienced. Many elder Garou would no doubt take pains to attempt to discredit him and strip the mighty weapon from him. But, in all truth, this was the easier of the two problems.

The most difficult aspect was convincing the klaive that it should allow him to wield it. Potent spirits had been bound into the klaive upon its creation, they granted it its many powers and capabilities and made it as deadly as it was. But these selfsame spirits also could decide whether or not they would allow someone the right to use the klaive to its full capabilities and it was these spirits that had brought Charlie here, to the most potent spiritual spot in the whole caern, in order to convince them of his worth.

He had been sitting under the waterfall, which was the heart of the caern, and existed as much in the spirit world as it did the real one. He had immersed himself under the pounding waters to prove his strength and durability as he had meditated upon his duties if he were to be allowed to take up the great weapon. He'd been meditating for hours now, as he had been doing every day for many weeks. As usual, Bonespur seemed to give no sign to him.

Then he saw it, and it took everything in him not to gasp in eager anticipation. The silver rune of duty had started to glow with an inner light, as though some massive spotlight were shining through it. He had seen this before, and now began looking at the shadows being cast by the twinkling light. Twice before he had achieved a state to summon this light, and each time there had been a shadow that had seemed to shape itself into a human form. He was certain that the spirits of the blade were choosing to communicate with him, if only he could focus enough to prove himself to them.

The shadow appeared as he had hoped it would, crouching at the edge of the pool next to the gleaming klaive. The shadow slowly stood up, pulling itself up regally with a rigid back as it regarded him through the flashing curtain of silvery water. Charlie fought hard to continue to accept the battering pain of the waterfall even as he calmed himself and opened his spirit to the energies of the caern and the klaive.

"I am Charlie 'Blackmuzzle' Snyder, galliard of the Get of Fenris," he announced his title firmly. "I wish to serve your purpose, Bonespur, and I wish you to aid me in defending Gaia and all the creatures of her creation. I wish to wield your silver light and to illuminate the dark places. I wish to serve with honor, my duty, until death." He waited, fighting hard against his anxious desire to demand the spirit speak to him, he remained calm and composed within the heart of the raging power of the falls.

"I know who you are, pup," came a sharp voice that dripped with ill-disguised annoyance at this seemingly bothersome interruption. Charlie gasped at the sound of the harsh tone.

"Dominic?" He leaned forward suddenly, the urge to look upon his now gone mentor and hero overcoming him as he thrust his head out of the pounding waterfall. The shadow was gone and the klaive lay upon the rock, glistening with condensation but seeming to have no glow beyond its own natural silvery sheen. Charlie paused for a moment, breathing hard as he looked around the empty field of stones and wading pools seeing that he was indeed alone.

"Damn!"

Water cascaded down upon his broad and hairy shoulders and splashed about in glittering and silver streams. In front of him lay the great weapon that still did not deign to speak clearly to him. His lips peeled back from large and yellowed fangs as he snarled menacingly at it. Kneeling in front of him the human female continued its plaintive monkey wailings.

What a puny and helpless thing she was, not at all like him, not like one of the Garou! He stood towering over her in his mighty crinos form, the form of the man-wolf, the battle form. He stood easily nine feet tall, and his thick and muscled body was coated in patchy and wiry black fur that jutted out in mangled clumps from his black, leathery skin. He had painted his flesh in decorative red patterns with the blood of the monkey's male mate, and his bloodstained claws flexed eagerly as he began the guttural chanting to honor the mighty spirits of death and war bound into the sword in front of him.

Torment's Wail was the sword of the War Leader, and well looked the part. It was six feet long with a massive grip and could only be properly wielded in the crinos form. The huge blade was coated in carvings of screaming faces twisted in looks of pain from unspeakable agony. Every single upraised surface and edge of those faces was carved into a wicked cutting surface and glittered with a wicked silver light, as if begging for flesh to rend and tear. The guard seemed to be carved of glittering black obsidian, and even this was edged with sharp surfaces designed to cut and bleed the strength from those who opposed the wielder. The hilt was over two feet in length and bound in thick strips of finely cured skin carved from the flesh of two innocent children, one a wolf and the other a human.

The blade had been claimed by him from the cold, dead hands of the previous War Leader who had just been murdered during a disastrous battle with the weak Gaian Garou. Stinkface had taken up the blade and led his fellow Black Spiral Dancers away from the battle and to safety, and he had used the power and symbolism of the blade to claim for himself a place of leadership amongst the now leaderless packs. But still the blade had not fully given itself to him, and until he could actually wield its power none would accept him as the true War Leader. Until he was War Leader his position was at risk and every day brought an increasing chance of a potential challenger who might seek to wrest the blade and its glories away from him.

Stinkface's voice grew louder as he neared the end of his ritual chant, and he reached down and gripped his hand firmly upon the mewling monkey's neck. She begged him in her mincing ape language while he grunted out powerful words from the very texts of The Wyrm itself. As he reached the end he howled in glory to the Wyrm, his bellow filling the small underground chamber of leaking sewage pipes and echoing madly back to him. His clawed hand tightened its grip as he tore her throat open. Her blood gushed and bubbled out of her throat as she attempted a gurgling scream of pain and horror.

Stinkface grinned in pleasure as he tilted her forward and allowed her blood to froth out upon the many cutting edges of torment's Wail. He spoke in an ancient language of madness known only to his people and the mighty spirits of The Wyrm as he promised the deadly weapon oceans of the blood of his foes. His eyes widened in glee as he saw the faces along the blade seem to drink deeply of the blood that splattered across them and he heard the faint wailing hiss of the spirits bound within the weapon as they feasted upon the life fluid.

"You are mine now!" Stinkface reached down and plucked the blade off the floor. He spun it about in a mighty arc and howled in glory. Yet suddenly the blade seemed to twist in his grip and with a cursing snarl he was pulled off his feet by the heavy weapon to crash ungracefully to the floor. He rose with a howl as he hurled the offending blade away from him. It clattered across the floor with great ringing peals that almost sounded like laughter.

"Damn you! I have performed the rituals, I have brought you the blood! You are mine by right, it was I who dragged you out of Kendar's dead hands and it is me you'll serve!" He bellowed at the blade, which sat and gleamed quietly upon the floor in simple insouciant glee.

Stinkface grew silent, worried that his howls might be heard beyond this chamber. His pack was in a tenuous position of late, and his inability to master the spirits of the powerful great klaive was starting to cause problems. When he had first claimed it many had been the pups who had flocked to his banner and proclaimed him the new War Leader, but if he continued to fail to prove that he controlled the blade he suspected their were elements of the packs that would be quite content to see if perhaps the sword would be happy to have someone else wrest it from the dead claws of its owner.

"This isn't over yet," he hissed at the sword, "you shall be mine, I swear it!"

**Chapter 1: New Faces, Old Songs**

She was dreaming about her family again. She still couldn't remember that night clearly, and she wasn't sure if that was a terrible or a wonderful thing. She could clearly remember the sound of the screams though, and that sickening sensation as steel hard talons had torn through too soft flesh. She could still smell the blood too; it had filled her nostrils and had somehow made her both heady with pleasure and queasy in sickness. But at least the faces all seemed blessedly blurred out of focus, which spared her from having to look into their eyes.

"Bridget, wake up."

The voice was warm with a slight lilting musical tinge to it that softened it pleasantly. Still, it came crashing through her dreams roughly and brutally, tearing apart the half remembered shapes and bodies more then her claws could ever have done.

The voice was given extra force by a firm hand shaking her shoulder. Bridget's sea green eyes fluttered open to peer about the dark room. Her entire left side felt painful and stiff from sleeping upon the rough wooden floor for so many nights in a row now. It still took her a few moments to remind herself where she was and why she was here. She blinked her bleary eyes slowly, hoping the aching itchiness would go away soon. She looked up at the figure shaking her and sighed.

"Go the fuck away, William," she snarled in annoyance.

He simply smiled at her, it was his usual response to almost any abuse being heaped upon him and it always filled Bridget with a vague annoyance at his never-ending equanimity. His pale, stringy, hair hung down past his wiry shoulders in a strange sort of halo as the moonlight creeping through the window behind him lit it with a silvery glow. His pinched mouth held his simple smile as he shook her again with his pale left hand. His right arm was twisted up and clutched tightly to his bare chest, the misshapen limb, as always, causing Bridget another twinge of unease as she glanced at it.

"I have earned the name Broken Claw," he offered softly. His rich and warm voice was not angry, simply insistent, as he tried to remind her of this fact.

"Screw that," she muttered, "it's a bleeding insult, cannae ye tell?"

"Perhaps, but it is also a sign of acceptance," he murmured as that obnoxious soft smile remained upon his narrow face. "Can you not remember your own joy at earning your true name? Our hunt was glorious and we all fought like heroes. It was a good battle."

"I have my true name ye bloody psychopath, and I'm damn sure not planning to go and switch out me birth certificate with fucking 'Fur-like-Flame' any time soon!" She sneered at him before rolling over and trying to find a comfortable spot in the lumpy sleeping bag. No such luck.

"You hold great honor to your homid name," he said carefully, his attractive voice pausing as though he realized that perhaps this could be insulting to her. Bridget frowned at that too, why couldn't he at least work himself up enough to get offended and annoyed by her even once? If he could at least insult her it'd make her feel that there was truly something living beneath that ever-present soft smile. "It is an important name," he allowed, "but it is not your true name, it is not a reflection of your immortal spirit as your true name is. It is not who you really are."

"Not who I really am?" She rolled back to face him, brushing some of her wild red curls out of her face as she spat in annoyance. "What the fuck makes ye think you know who I am? I had a life, y'know. I had a real to God honest life and a real family too." Her eyes narrowed in a mix of anger and pain at the thought. "But that changed, didnae it? All of a sudden that…that Change happens and everything gets fucked to hell!"

"You had a painful First Change," Broken Claw was quick to agree, his melodious voice soft and tinged with sympathy. "But many are the Garou who have pains in their past."

"The Garou?" Bridget finally sat up, her frustration shaking her into wakefulness better then Broken Claw ever could have. "Ye do realize this is all some sort of brain-fuck, donnae ye? All of a sudden I'm turning into something out of a nightmare, some bloody wolf monster-"

"We're not monsters," Broken Claw said softly.

"And then a whole bunch of other monsters show up," snapped Bridget, ignoring him. "They tell me how bloody lucky I am to be one of Gaia's Chosen or some such nonsense and try to convince me I'm better off without me folks. They basically kidnap me off to some fucking brainwashing camp in the mountains-"

"That would be the caern, it-"

"It is some bloody brain rape factory is what it is," she snapped. "They get you up there, show you what a psycho monster you really are, and then tell ye how you'll never be normal again! Then they tell me now I have to train to be some sort of warrior against some other giant pile of monsters!"

"The Wyrm is real," was his gentle reply as he politely turned around so she could get dressed. Bridget fought a sudden urge to kick him in the back of the head just to see if she could get a rise out of him, but she recognized the thought as being born from within the roiling red anger that seemed to swim through her ever since the first time she had transformed into the were-beast monster. The Garou called it Rage, and she couldn't help but agree with their choice of name. It was though all the anger in her life had become a liquid as vital to her as blood, and now coursed through her body constantly. She clenched her hands tightly, her nails biting into the flesh of her palms as she forced herself to calm down somewhat. Then, with a sigh, she stood up and stripped off her night shirt and began pulling on her jeans and flannel shirt.

"Ye have to admit it's all pretty insane, though," she grumbled as she zipped up her jeans. "These Garou basically kidnapped me. They said I had to be trained and they dragged me off. What if they are all the bad guys and they're just brainwashing us to fight against the good spirits…presuming you really buy into the spirit part."

"Once you look upon the works of The Wyrm there shall be little doubt as to which side of the conflict you should be on," offered Broken Claw with his usual quiet allegiance to the elder Garou and their party line.

"Ye realize ye sound like a ponce when ye talk like that."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize." Once again Broken Claw was sincerely apologizing to her and Bridget felt a fresh snap of red anger lance through her. She bit back her frustration and pulled tightly at her boots as she forced them on over her feet.

"Okay, let's say I accept that this Wyrm is the worst thing since Hitler."

"The Wyrm is far more then mere fear and bigotry, as the elders say, it is beyond such simple concepts."

"Ponce." Bridget began buttoning her shirt as she walked up to Broken Claw and motioned past him to the window that looked out upon the city of Detroit. The sprawling dock district lay before them, much of it still dark but with a growing bustle of activity as dawn approached. "But seriously, if this Wyrm is so bad, why the hell do we spend so much time hiding ourselves from the Garou who already live here? I thought we were all on the same side?"

"There has always been some…disagreement about the best way to battle The Wyrm," allowed Broken Claw with a small shrug. "We fight a spiritual war, Bridget. In a war where thought and ideas can transform the spiritual landscape is it really so surprising to find that there may be more then one road to victory, or for that matter, damnation. The tribes who make up The Jungle caern here in Detroit have many longstanding disagreements with our elders back in Raging Falls."

"Well, I can't fault them for that assessment," she noted dryly, though if Broken Claw caught her deeper meaning he showed no sign.

"I remember the last time the two tribes waged a war of more then words. Many of the city Garou died that night. Now, as their numbers swell again they not only feel the pain of the old wounds but once more have the power to perhaps seek to avenge them. In that light, I agree with our orders to remain hidden from them during this mission."

"But they're Garou, right? They're trying to fight for Gaia and the rest of that spiritual BS, aye?"

"Perhaps, and perhaps not. There are many different paths, and until they're walked how can one be sure where they go."

"Ponce."

There was a sudden loud knock at the door. "Bridget, Broken Claw, we're about to start." The deep, solid voice was that of Norman, one of the other 'pups' who'd been placed on the surveillance mission.

"Keep yuir pants on, we're coming soon enough!" She smiled a bit to herself when she heard the small grunt of annoyance from Norman before he plodded off. She pulled her wild red hair back and crammed her worn Stetson hat atop it. "Well, what say we go learn how to save the world by staring at a decaying hospital some more?"

"I doubt we'll save the world, but if we can perhaps save the city that would be quite nice." Broken Claw smiled at her softly and Bridget couldn't tell if he was messing with her or not. She turned and stomped towards the door, figuring this early in the morning it wasn't worth the effort to puzzle out.

The broken down old apartment they were currently squatting in had definitely seen better days, and the rickety wooden stairs creaked as they made their way up into the old office suite that served as their meeting room.

Norman and Tongue-tied were already waiting for them. Norman was a tall and well built African American with a surprisingly gentle and quiet way for one so strong. Tongue-tied was almost the opposite, a short and scrawny white kid with a mop of blonde hair and a mouth that rarely seemed to be at ease unless it was babbling away excitedly about some new bit of lore he'd learned about their Garou ancestors. In fact he seemed to be excitedly informing Norman about something along those lines as she and Broken Claw approached.

"…if you can believe that, and I think I can! Can you imagine that? Descending into The Pit? It's amazing he's alive at all, it's no wonder he's being sent to make sure everything is ship shape here. Do you think he'll maybe be assigned to us for a time? I hear there's actually already no less then three different epic poems and songs that commemorate the event. I think he even wrote one of them from his own perspective!" Tongue-tied cast a lopsided grin towards her and Broken Claw as they approached, "well, well, you two took an awful long time getting out here," he made a slightly lewd gesture, "anything we should know about?"

Broken Claw's pale features actually flushed slightly as he quickly glanced away, though Bridget couldn't tell if it was in annoyance or embarrassment. She settled for elbowing past Tongue-tied and flipping him off when he squawked in protest. Tongue-tied annoyed her for just seeming too damn pleased to be a freaky were-monster. The grinning dweeb had probably never had anything bad happen to him ever. Norman quietly placed himself between her and Tongue-tied before the kid did something stupid. She sighed in disappointment.

"I'm glad to see that you're so ready for action," noted Norman softly, "since today will be quite busy." Bridget had never liked Norman, since he clearly bought into the whole insane brainwashing of the elder Garou. It was little wonder they'd chosen him to lead the pack, rambling off such idiocy as his deserving honor and wisdom, which she suspected was just a fancy way of noting how much Kool-Aid he'd drunk.

"What's so special about today," she asked curiously.

"It looks like our reports have finally borne some fruit. Marn and the elders decided it was time to finally head inside the hospital and get a real sense for what's in there. They're sending down a more experienced Garou to serve as field commander for the operation. If all goes well we may even answer enough questions where we don't need to do any more work on the stupid hospital. I, for one, have been pretty sick with eyeing the damn thing for the last month and I suspect the rest of you feel the same."

Bridget nodded. She and the others had been living in this shoddy warehouse for weeks now. Only scurrying out now and again to perform some more minor recon and surveillance of the hospital, all the while having to duck and avoid the city Garou whose caern was only a couple of miles away.

"There's also a pretty good chance that, if everything does go well, we'll be rewarded for our actions here and," even Norman couldn't prevent the hopeful smile from spreading across his broad face, "perhaps finally be shifted off this duty assignment and be allowed back up to the caern."

"A return to the mountain and Raging Falls?" Broken Claw's voice was hushed with a lyrically hopeful twang.

"Wow, so we could get a good night's sleep on the rough wooden floor of a cabin instead of the rough wooden floors here. Whoop-de-fucking-doo." Bridget snorted as she leaned against the doorframe furthest from the others. "So do we know when our savior is due to arrive with his magical fairy dust that will let us move back into Hicksville?" She couldn't help but feel a contented pleasure at watching the other's grins fade into glowers.

"I'll have you know that it's the nephew of Marn himself," announced Tongue-tied dramatically as he intoned the name of the leader of their caern. "Lord Charlie 'Blackmuzzle' is one of the Second Heroes of The Pit and is famed for his skills in battle and wisdom during peacetime." Tongue-tied motioned in the general direction of the city Garou's lair. "It was even him who negotiated the current peace with the Glass Walkers."

"Aye, the peace that's so wonderful we spend all our time hiding like scardy-cats from them," sighed Bridget as she shook her head. This was just great, soon she and the others would have to be falling over themselves to obey and impress the grinning twit of a nephew of the idiotic leader of their caern.

This Charlie was sure to be a ponce of the first order.

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Charlie's head ached in protest as he climbed out of the cramped cab of the van he'd been given for the drive into Detroit. He would swear the thing was more rust then metal and it had treated every dip and shift in the pavement as though it were crashing over boulders.

"Filthy metal death box," snarled the wolf that sprang out behind him. The sleek, tawny, wolf shook itself disdainfully as it moved away from the van, its rich golden fur glistening as it bristled. Charlie easily comprehended the growls of the wolf, the language as natural for him as English, even if it did come across as rougher and less flowing. "I hate the driving."

"I know, I know." He waved his hands placatingly to 'Leona' Throatripper. She was the only other surviving member of his pack, and they had worked together now for almost two years. But that just made him even more aware of her potentially violent and distrusting attitude towards all things manmade. "But really, would you have rather walked?"

"Yes."

Her quick answer didn't surprise him, after all, she'd been born and raised as a wolf before her First Change. As a result she tended to look for all solutions through a wolf's mindset. The idea of avoiding an hour long car ride for a few hours of running didn't phase her. Charlie glanced around carefully as he eyed the streets around the rundown apartment complex that the Raging Falls caern used as its forward spy lair to keep tabs on the Glass Walkers and their caern. There was relatively little activity despite how close they were to the hectic business of the warehouse and dock district nearby. Still, any one of the humans strolling by could potentially be kinfolk to the Glass Walkers and it wouldn't do for them to spot Marn's nephew and a wolf hanging around.

"Come on, let's get off the streets." He moved up to the apartment's front door quickly, Leona on his heels, and slipped inside. The darkness of the interior was unsettling after the bright day outside, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust. His hand dropped to his hip, and the sheathed klaive there as he scanned the area. Though he was still not attuned to _Bonespur_ something had made him want to keep the ancient weapon with him. Perhaps, he mused, he could find a chance to attempt to attune with it again during this scouting run. Also, a quiet voice in the back of his head whispered, if somehow he really was communicating with Dominic then he refused to give up his only connection to his former mentor.

He had been closer then he had ever been before to communicating with the klaive and he had gone and blown it by getting excited and confused when the spirit had used a familiar voice. It had been so stupid of him. He had to be smarter then that if he was ever going to earn the right to carry _Bonespur_.

"Smell the pups." Leona sniffed the air a few times as she peered around the mold encrusted entry hall. "All upstairs." She nodded her head towards the nearby stairs. Charlie took the lead, confident that Leona would fall in behind him, all of her keen senses on high alert. He was happy that her wolfish nature kept her on edge in the city, since he was feeling particularly out of his depth. His uncle had assigned him this mission and the control of the pack as a way of providing his nephew with an easy chance at some renown. But Charlie felt incredibly uneasy about the leadership role he was being thrust into, and he was unsure how the pups would react to him.

Leona let out a slight growl that pulled him out of his thoughts. Charlie glanced down the hallway he had just entered to spot a thin slip of a girl leaned up against an open doorway from which a thin rectangle of meager orange light spilled. Her ragged brown duster was belted tightly around her waist, a frayed Stetson hat was pulled low over her face. She seemed to sneer slightly as she spotted him before glancing into the room behind her.

"He's here."

Three more figures stepped through the doorway. One was a young boy dressed in a baggy T-shirt and shorts, his hands jammed nervously into his pockets as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. His eyes shone eagerly from under his concealing mop of blonde hair. Next to him stood a tall, powerfully built, and handsome, African American. Though he was as young as the others he seemed to have a sense of maturity about him. His posture was easy and relaxed, a calming smile on his gentle face. Lurking slightly behind them in the shadows was a narrow shouldered young man with stringy, pale, blonde hair hanging down across his hawk-like features. Though he tried to hide it Charlie couldn't help but notice that the boy's right arm was twisted up and held at an awkward angle to his chest as though it had been severely broken and healed poorly.

"Uh, hello there. I'm-"

"Lord Charlie 'Blackmuzzle' Snyder. Galliard of the Get of Fenris. Servant of Bull, protector of the Raging Falls and nephew of Marn the One Eyed. You are one of the heroes of The Pit. You are crusher of the Beast of the Quarry, speaker of your tribe, and the teller of tales thought forgotten." Charlie glanced down at the bright faced lad who had run off the list of titles with more speed and accuracy then he himself had ever managed. The young boy beamed with pride as he smiled enthusiastically back. "My name is Frank Tate, though I am also known as Tongue-tied. I have studied your tales with great eagerness, lord. We were all pleased to learn that we would be serving with you!"

"Um…good?" Charlie tried to keep smiling. "Okay," he began slowly, "look, you can just call me Charlie."

"But you are one of the great heroes of The Pit," gasped Tongue-tied. His bright eyes widened in shock as he stammered for words. "It is imperative that all Garou show you the respect and honor that you have earned for your glorious deeds."

"Ah," sighed Charlie. He wondered if he had seemed so foolish to Dominic, the elder Shadow Lord who had been Charlie's mentor not so long ago. Charlie forced himself to nod, and tried to imitate some of the commanding scowl that Dominic had seemed to use so easily. "Very well, but just keep it to lord, then, no need to be too formal."

"Very well, lord."

"Well I cannae say I'm too impressed. I thought at the very least we'd be getting one of the wizened gray beards from Marn's inner circle, not just another kid." The words were spoken sharply and in a thick Scottish brogue. He was also rather surprised to hear the sense of anger and disrespect in the words. "Yuir hardly older then meself."

Charlie glanced over at the young woman. She stared back at him, her bright green eyes flashing from under the brim of her hat. Her small lips pursed together into an annoyed frown as she eyed him. Charlie met her gaze evenly, somewhat surprised that the young pup was rushing into a stare down contest with him. The locking of the eyes was an ancient method of wolves to establish dominance in the pack, the Garou took it no less seriously and Charlie knew many a time when such tests had erupted into legitimate conflict.

"Don't worry, I'm still older then you in years and most assuredly in experience," he retorted with a touch of irritation at the disrespect. "I'm sure, though, if you doubt me overmuch we'll figure out a way to answer your doubts Miss…"

"You can call me Bridget." Her eyes didn't waver as she continued to stare, Charlie frowned at her continued stubbornness. He couldn't believe she was still competing. Her eyes seemed to flicker with an angry inner light, as though fires burned in the depths of her soul. Charlie felt a tenseness crawl across his back. He wasn't used to having to lock eyes with young pups anymore. He was even less prepared for a pup who appeared intent to stare at him till the world around them crumbled to dust.

"I'm known as Norman 'Wall-of-Gaia' Constantine, pack leader," offered the large black kid as he stepped between Charlie and Bridget and extended his hand in greeting. Charlie wasn't sure if the pup had intentionally interrupted the stare down, or if he just hadn't realized it was happening. In any case he reached out and clasped hands for a firm handshake. Norman grinned broadly as he motioned to the quiet figure with the deformed arm. "And that's Broken-Claw."

"Good to meet you all." Charlie motioned down to the she wolf standing next to him who was eyeing Bridget darkly. "This is 'Leona' Throatripper, my packmate and friend. We were sent down here to investigate the hospital."

"We're at your disposal," said Norman with a slight bow of his head, "what's the plan?"

"Simple," Charlie grinned, "we bust in tonight, search the place over, and clear out. It should be a piece of cake."

--------------------------------------------

The dark chamber echoed strangely with the sound of water dripping down upon the metal pipes that crisscrossed the floor and walls. Somewhere above her Gorefist could hear the gurgle of the sewage pipes as they flushed the morning waste from the dens of the humans. Closer yet could be heard the dull sound of heavy machinery as it pulsed and pounded away at stone and cement.

Gorefist curled up her fist into a tight ball, her claws digging into the rough flesh of her palm to create at least some release of the tension that kept her body tight with unease. She was a warrior of her people, the Black Spiral Dancers. They were the Garou who understood the true glory of The Wyrm. They had danced the mysteries of the Black Spiral and had been granted wisdom and power far superior to their cousins who still clung to their antiquated and foolish worship of that lame Earth spirit.

Let the other tribes refer to the Spirals as fallen. Let them call the Spirals degraded, insane, maddened, feral, ferocious, and betrayers of Gaia. None of the Garou ever called them weak or foolish though, and that was the true wisdom and power of The Wyrm made manifest.

In Detroit they had lived for many generations. Her tribe was mighty and strong and the weak Get had cowered on their mountain in fear whilst leaving the streets and the humans they claimed to protect to the Spirals. They had lived beneath the city in a massive set of caverns amidst the hauntingly beautiful and powerful caern of The Pit. Their numbers had been many and their leadership strong.

Well she could remember the names of fearsome Fer-guath, the wizened theurge who had controlled all spirits with but a thought, or deadly Endelon, the silent and deadly killer with emotionless eyes, and finally Kendar, mighty and invincible Kendar the Head Collector, mightiest of all the warriors and leader in times of war, greatest of their tribe in this city. She had been his once, his chief aide, lieutenant, and lover.

But now?

It seemed like an eerie nightmare. Somehow, somehow on the night that was to be the culmination of all of their hopes and dreams. The very night they would bring back their caern's most potent totem spirit – Tyranthaxus, the Corrupter of Souls. Somehow a tiny force of Garou had invaded the caern and beaten through its defenses. Somehow they had stood and outfought the assembled warriors and spirits of that place. Somehow they had disrupted the ritual, defeated Tyranthraxus, and then in a profane act beyond comprehension, they had even shattered The Pit and collapsed the great caverns that had been her tribe's home.

They had been scattered, frightened, left running and mewling in the darkness like pathetic meat rather then the true hunters they were. Now they were left to the sewage tunnels that had been their primary hunting grounds when assaulting the city, and even this meager haven was soon to be denied them. Gorefist tilted her head as she heard further sounds of construction drifting along the pipes, heralding the coming of the humans and their great earth ripping machines. Soon enough they would tear down the walls and pipes of this place as well.

"We should kill them, let me and my pack go forth and we shall feast on human flesh soon enough!" The voice belonged to Kills-them-All. The towering pack leader was on her feet and pacing about, as usual, her aggressive energy always keeping her moving. She lifted her taloned hands to her face, yellowed eyes gleaming out from behind her scarred muzzle as she snarled loudly. "We must defend the Hive!"

The other pack leaders who were attending the meeting grunted and growled in encouragement to these familiar words. Always before when the lair had been threatened Kendar would have led them out promising blood and the heads of their foes. Gorefist watched as the others happily agreed with Kills, perhaps expecting this potential slaughter to remind them of the better days.

"Defend what, exactly?" Stinkface spoke softly from where he sat near the head of the room. He was a young warrior and his list of accomplishments, though notable, was lesser then many of the other pack leaders here, Gorefist included. Yet when he spoke the others grew quieter. He had been the pack leader who had organized them during those desperate moments as The Pit had collapsed around them in Tyranthraxus' death throes. His had been the hand that had taken Kendar's sword from the lifeless grasp of the War Leader. He sat now with the massive sword placed casually in front of him, the blade carved and etched with hundreds of screaming faces, whose every raised edge was sharpened to a cutting point.

Still, there were whispers that haunted Stinkface's power, whispers that despite the many sacrifices and entreaties he'd made to the blade that he could still not master the potent weapon. If these rumors were true the upstart's power would erode as quickly and suddenly as it had appeared. But yet, despite the fact that no one had yet credibly claimed to have witnessed Stinkface wielding the blade, none dared challenge him.

It was probably due to the fear of fighting a warrior armed with one of the most potent weapons of the Hive. Though sometimes Gorefist wondered if no one challenged Stinkface out of fear, fear that they would prove he didn't have the right to rule. Prove that he didn't have possession of the War Leader's blade. He was the last symbol of the old glory their packs had once held, and she suspected they were uneasy to shatter this illusion.

"What do you go on about?" Kills-them-All's eyes flashed dangerously as she turned towards Stinkface. Her massive arms flexed in readiness as she bared her gleaming fangs.

"I was asking a simple question," Stinkface said quietly. He, unlike most of the others, was not even in his crinos form. Instead he sat there, a bulky young man with stringy brown hair. He fished a cigarette out of his shirt pocket as he eyed Kills calmly. "The temple to the Wyrm in The Pit is no more. Here in the Hive, all we have left is sleeping space. What are we defending?"

"What is ours!" Kills-them-All's roar caused more then a few of the other pack leaders to jump in surprise. Kills stepped forward, dipping her head to allow her long warrior's braid to slip off her shoulder and swing in front of her. The oily braid of black hair collected in a knot on the end that was woven with gleaming black barbs. Gorefist had seen Kills rip the face off of a Gaian Garou with a sharp snap of her neck once, causing those brutal barbs to lash out with surprising speed and accuracy. She glanced at Stinkface who was simply lighting his cigarette.

"The city Garou, Syntax and her bastards, they pull the strings on the monkeys," he said softly as he took a slow drag, "They will not be stopped easily by us simply gutting some humans and smashing some machines. They know exactly what it is they have the humans digging for. It is not a sewer renovation so much as an attack on what remains of our power base."

"Then you agree with me?" Kills managed a leering grin even though she sounded slightly confused. "We have to stop them!"

"Stop them?" Stinkface scoffed. "For what? Rusting pipes and corroded training chambers? Are you so fond of the stink of shit about this place?"

Kills' eyes narrowed as she took a menacing step forward. A deep rumbling growl echoed in her broad chest as she eyed the young War Leader. He glanced up at her calmly taking another slow drag of his cigarette. His right hand, however, snaked out slowly to rest mere centimeters from the worn black alligator hide that tightly wrapped the hilt of Torment's Wail. His fingers tapped along the ground, a small little tempo of beats that could be heard quite clearly since, as Gorefist realized with a start, the rest of the room had gone deadly silent. Stinkface slowly blew a stream of smoke at Kills.

"Was there something else you wished to discuss, pack leader?"

Kills' shoulders slowly slumped forward as she snorted and shook her head slowly, her warrior braid bobbing around in front of her. "No, War Leader, I have spoken my peace. For now."

For now. Gorefist watched Kills turn and lumber back to where her pack sat in the corner. She slowly turned to look at the other pack leaders, all of them eyeing Stinkface warily. Yes, for now things would hold as they had held. For now.

But not for much longer.


	2. Ch 2 There Will Always be New Heroes

Ah, the glories of chapter two. In this chapter we get to experience a little bit of mystery, a little touch of action, and the literal appearance of an old ally of Charlie's. I'd also like to take a moment to thank _greenwine _for his review. It may not have helped my struggles with the mechanics of the artist's craft but it was certainly a huge ego boost and highly appreciated as I slug through (re)writing this story. Clealy I'll have to put in some more quid pro quo work to get some more reviews, but I've never particularly sweated that. In any case, that's enough time for my random prattalings (glorious though they be) let us continue watching the;

**Rise of the Heroes: A Tale of Detroit**

**Chapter 2: There Will Always be New Heroes, and New Enemies**

The hospital had clearly seen better days. The windows were mostly broken and many had sheets of plywood boarded up across them. Once white plaster had been chipped and worn down so now it looked almost like rotten gray flesh slowly sloughing off the building in dribbling sheets of skin. It seemed even as though the local vandals avoided the place, for unlike every other building in the decaying neighborhood not one ounce of spray paint had been used to tag the decaying edifice.

Bridget sighed in frustration as she looked at her pack and the two twits who'd been put in charge of the mission. They'd been circling around the building and checking it out thoroughly for about the past two hours now.

"How much time now," she prompted for about the third time.

"Five minutes since you last asked," noted Norman as he failed to even glance at his watch.

"What's the rush," asked Tongue-tied with a smirk. "Hot date?"

Bridget snarled as a wave of red hot anger flashed through her. She suspected the little twerp was getting off on the excitement of feeling like he was on some sort of action mission. He was saved by any reply she might have come up with as Charlie and Leona finally returned from another circuit around the building.

"The entire place looks abandoned and empty," said Charlie revealing a brilliant observation that Bridget and the others had been reporting up to Raging Falls in their nightly reports for weeks now. "Still, I wish I had a better idea about what we were walking into." Charlie glanced at the golden wolf next to him. "Anything to offer yet?"

"The spiritual activity is…strange," Leona offered with an uneasy growl as she glowered at the building. "The spirits here dampened and hard to read."

"Nothing for it but to go inside then." Charlie motioned for the others to follow him as he began heading for the police tape laden front doors. "We'll be able to get a better read and maybe even figure out what's going on here."

"And what is going on here?" Bridget sneered at Charlie as she asked. "All we was ever told was to keep a sharp eye on it and report everything."

"We're not entirely sure," he admitted with a shrug. "But it's strange for spiritual activity to read like it does here. The entire building seems to be devoid of any activity, and in the spirit realm it's so tightly bound up you can barely move through it. It feels like there's something here, something quite valuable and well protected. If we can; I intend to find whatever that valuable item is, and bring it back to the council so they can divine how best to use it."

"Ponce," Bridget muttered under her breath as she rolled her eyes. She really didn't understand how the others could begin to put up with Charlie. It was painfully clear that all of them being put under his command was just another sinecure from his Uncle, the mighty Marn Valhallan. It was so obvious that Charlie had been cared for and attended to every day of his life with such a rich and powerful relative. He'd probably never wanted for food or clothing. He'd never come home to a dark house because the electrical company had shut them down for not being able to pay the bills. He hadn't had to drop out of school to care for his younger siblings. Worst of all was that his parents had probably known he was Garou, and had been quite aware of the coming change. It wouldn't have been like it was for her, oh no, not for Lord Charlie the chosen one.

There would have been someone there to stop him when the Rage finally came for him and forced the First Change. There would have been someone there to stop him. There would have been something done to protect his family.

She shook her head forcefully, not wanting to dwell on that thought. As she cast about, looking for something to distract herself with, she spotted a trio of ravens perched upon a nearby telephone wire. The birds seemed to be staring quite intently at her and the others as they crossed the street towards the hospital.

"Once we're inside I want everyone to stay on their toes. Don't allow yourself to be separated and I suggest you always stick close to either Leona or myself at all times." He reached out and tore down the tape blocking the doorway.

Bridget watched as the ravens suddenly cawed uneasily. Two of them took to the air in a flutter of wings and raced off as though hell itself were at their heels. The last one remained where it was, dark black eyes seeming to peer intently down at her.

"Bridget?" Broken Claw eased up next to her, almost reaching out to shake her shoulder but pausing just short of touching her. "We're going inside now."

"Huh? Oh, right." She motioned to the raven. "Sorry, I was just weirded out by that bird."

"A reasonable concern," offered Broken Claw with a small shrug of his shoulders. "Many cultures believe that the raven serve as the watching eyes of various gods be they gods of war or death. Their appearance was often heralded as a sign of a time of upcoming battle or of great tragedy and death."

"Thanks," she sneered, "ye really know how to help a girl relax." She glanced over her shoulder at the raven as she walked through the doors and into the hospital. The large black bird continued to watch her, a look of somber awareness on its face.

"Warding symbols! That's what they are!" Tongue-tied's excited shout shook her out of her fugue. Bridget glanced around to spot him and the others standing by the front admissions counter. On the wall behind the counter was an intricate design scrawled up in a spidery light touch of black ink. The entire display was almost four feet across and seemed to twist and shift whenever she tried to focus on it.

"You're right," agreed Broken Claw as he approached and peered closely at the feathery etching. "This must be why no one in the neighborhood seems to pay any attention to the structure." He shook his head in bewilderment. "The amount of effort to keep an entire building warded..."

"The Elder Council will be very curious about what is so important to deserve that effort," agreed Charlie as he headed down a wide hallway that went deeper into the decaying structure. "Everyone keep your eyes peeled. Leona what sort of energies are you picking up from the spirits?"

"Bad energies," snarled the wolf, "not a surprise in filthy city."

"Leona..." Charlie sighed, as though this were some long running debate between them.

"Hgggh." The wolf snorted as she glanced at him and then twitched her ears in what might have been the equivalent of a wolfish shrug. "Uncertain, spirits scared or angry." She spoke in the language of wolves, which Bridget could understand, though it made her head ace. "Possible danger."

"Possible danger?" Bridget frowned. "I thought spirits couldn't hurt you unless you stepped into the Penumbra with them?"

"Stupid thought," snorted the wolf. "Think you only Garou to cross between spirit realm and this one? Stupid."

"Stupid?" Bridget clenched her fists, ready to retort, but Norman glanced sharply at her and shook his head. Bridget sneered at him but swallowed her angry reply. She realized that impressing these idiots from Raging Falls was important to the rest of her pack, and was begrudgingly willing to play nice for their sakes.

She wedged her hands into her pockets and fought hard to keep her mouth shut as they wandered around the empty and dusty hallways. Their footsteps echoed about strangely in the darkness and more then once Bridget had jumped at an oddly twisting shadow before realizing it had belonged to one of the others.

"Bridget."

"Wha?" She glanced up at the others who all seemed to be excitedly discussing some splattered paint upon the floor of a large operating room. "What's up?"

"We think these are more runes that are serving as a focal point for the entire concealing rite on the building," answered Broken Claw as he glanced up from the tiles, a look of curious bewilderment on his face. "I'm not sure whether to be amazed at the achievement or frightened of the power it must have taken."

"So why'd you call to me then?"

"We didn't," grunted Norman as he glanced around. "Did you hear something?"

"I didn't," snarled Leona as she slinked around the room, her ears twitching. "My ears better then human ears."

"Probably nothing," sighed Bridget with a wave of her hand as she turned her back on them.

"Bridget over here."

She turned to glance at the others, who were still excitedly discussing one of the whirling patterns on the floor. All save for Leona, who was anxiously still pacing the perimeter. It was clear none of them were hearing the soft female voice which sounded so oddly familiar to her. Bridget's eyes narrowed as she scanned the room, trying to pinpoint the sound. She began easing towards one of the side hallways leading away from the lab they were currently in. She would have sworn the voice came from somewhere over there.

"Bridget, help us."

The voice was eerily familiar, but she still couldn't place it. Her eyes narrowed as she peered around the corner into the long dark hallway. At the end she could see a slightly open door to a stairwell. She glanced back to the others, reassuring herself that they were just a shout away if something went wrong, and then she turned and moved towards the stairwell door.

-----------------------------------------

'Leona' Throatripper watched as the other circled around the splattered patterns on the floor and tried to comprehend the workings of the strange ritual that they all stood within. The entire thing made her hackles stand on end. She didn't like the idea of being within a building that had been so heavily ensorcelled against spirits and humanity noticing it. Secrets were a confusing and twisted habit of the humans and the thought of why some creature would wish to hide an entire building made her thoughts ache unhappily.

She could remember her First Change and that period where all the thoughts of the humans had flooded into her brain and twisted it up into painful shapes. It was one of the reasons she so despised entering the homid form; it always seemed to bring such confusing thoughts with it to frustrate her thinking.

It was almost equally as frustrating to watch the others act so amazed at the supposed wonder of the twisted creations all around her, she was tempted to suggest to Charlie that they just shred apart the ritual, banish the casting and let things sort themselves out as they may. Still, she held her tongue, since she knew he wouldn't approve and she begrudgingly accepted that perhaps, in this instance, it might be more prudent to let his human intuition guide them. For a homid she had always found Charlie thoughts, if sometimes too soft, at least clear enough to be worthy of following.

She was worried about him, however. His human instincts were getting in the way of him properly leading these pups. Her pack mate and friend seemed nervous and uncertain in his leadership, and she suspected the pups could pick up on those emotions. It ill befitted a leader to allow himself such uncertainty. She was certain the one female, the red head, sensed the unease and that had led to her disrespectful challenge of Charlie's authority.

Thoughts of Bridget made Throatripper glance up from her patrol to eye the troublesome pup. But as her eyes cast around the room she could see no sign of her. Throatripper sniffed the air uneasily, catching a scent of the spicy anger smell that clung to Bridget like a second skin. The pup had wandered off alone! Throatripper almost barked out a warning when she caught a second scent, a familiar mix of the musky smell of secrets and the bright aroma of rain. She was familiar with this smell and suspected it could mean trouble. Her eyes narrowed as she slipped into the shadows around a nearby doorway and began to stalk her prey.

-----------------------------------------

"There are a lot of smaller rituals worked in throughout the pattern, all intermingling with each other." Tongue-tied threw up his hands in amazed exasperation. "Broken Claw and I might be able to tell you more if we tried to peel some of them back and untangle the mess but I sorta suspect anyone slick enough to put this thing together is slick enough to set up something to tell them when somebody tampers with it."

"It's like a spider web," offered Broken Claw softly, "beautiful artistry to gaze upon, yet dangerous to those who touch it."

"Agreed." Charlie sighed as he stood up. "So we're still no closer to figuring out what's going on here. We better keep searching."

"Should we split up to cover more ground?" Norman cracked his knuckles eagerly.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Charlie cautioned. "If someone put this much effort into this place it either contains something very valuable or very dangerous. Until we know which we should stick together."

"Speaking of that," Broken Claw glanced around uneasily, "where are Bridget and Leona?"

Charlie cursed as he spun to look over the room. How could he have let himself get so distracted as to allow one of the pups to wander off? Stranger yet was the disappearance of Leona, she should certainly have known enough not to go off on her own.

"Bridget did say something about hearing, y'know, voices, or a noise, or something, right?" Tongue-tied scrambled to his feet and looked to Charlie for direction. Charlie felt himself cringe inwardly as he realized Broken Claw and Norman were both looking to him as well. He licked his suddenly dry lips and fought hard to maintain an outward seeming of calm.

"Waaaah!"

The high pitched wail came from the darkened office a few feet behind him. Charlie jumped in surprise before he, slightly sheepishly, motioned for the others to follow him through the door. He tensed as he rushed into the room, ready to find either of the women horribly wounded and facing some horrid beast.

He wasn't expecting to find Leona crouched over a small dark shape, her teeth barred as she growled a low and threatening snarl. She glanced up as he and the others stumbled through the door, her eyes gleaming eagerly as she motioned down to the small figure cowering beneath her.

"Caught spying on us."

"Good job, Leona." Charlie waved at her to step back as he fixed his best glare down at the figure on the ground. "Okay, who the hell are you and-" His voice caught in his throat as the figure looked up and winked at him.

"Hey, Charlie, how're tricks?"

"Jo?"

"I'm glad you remember me at least." The young girl scrambled up to her feet and dusted herself off as she frowned at Leona. "At least some of you remember me."

"I remember," snorted Leona, "but you spying on us."

"Me?" Jo's dark eyes blinked in wounded pride as she gestured theatrically at herself. "I'm hurt, I'm literally hurt. Actually quite literally hurt considering the whole wolf jumping out of the shadows and dragging me to the floor thing." Jo scooped up her fallen black sock cap from the ground and batted the dust from it while she continued talking. "Of course I suppose I can forgive you. I mean, I know when I'm breaking into places I tend to get pretty jumpy. Maybe next time I'll call ahead, not that any of you have ever seemed to carry a cell phone for me to call, but maybe this will convince you to drag yourself into the twenty-first century with the rest of us." She brushed her waist length straight black hair away from her face before cramming her cap back into place.

"Jo," Charlie began.

"So it's been a dog's age hasn't it, or a wolf's age. Actually are they different? I can never keep that part straight, but it's literally just a saying so I suppose it's fine one way or the other." She smiled cheerily up at him as she placed her hands on her hips and winked. Even as she spoke with him her large dark eyes never seemed to stop moving as they darted back and forth across the room, eyeing everything and everyone with intense scrutiny before dancing on to the next subject. "Still, it is nice to see you again." Her gaze was now darting excitedly across Norman and Tongue-tied. "Or literally for the first time too. Did they put you in charge of a pack, Charlie?" She waggled her finger at him. "I always knew you'd be going places. Well, I mean, we're all 'going places' except, I guess, for those who are in a coma or something. Though I guess those beds have wheels for a reason. But I mean you more in the upward mobility through the ranks sort of way of going, rather then the sheer possibility of movement. I mean, I know most people will say it's due to your uncle. Still, you're more intelligent then half the howling fur balls up there at Raging Falls so you'd probably have gone places in any case. At least I'll literally be able to say I knew you when."

"They're not my pack," he tried to cut in.

"No! Do you need me to come up to the mountain and have a conversation with Marn? I could put in a few good words for you. Well, okay, let's be honest, I'd put in more then a few, but that couldn't hurt, could it? If one works then three is better I always say, especially when it comes to ice cream. Good gravy, and look at these three!" Jo, who stood just a shade over five feet tall craned her neck back as she glanced up at Norman. "What are they putting in the water up on that mountain? So, how are you guys liking the city, did you just get in tonight?

"Actually we've been here a few weeks now," Norman answered in puzzlement as he glanced over to Charlie and shrugged.

"Well, it's great to meet you in any case." She thrust her hand upwards. "My name's Josephine Corven, but my friends call me Jo, you can call me Jo." Norman slowly took her hand and Jo pumped it enthusiastically while still chattering away. "I'm a friend of Charlie's and Leona's from waaaay back. We fought together in The Pit y'know. Yes sir, you could say I taught Charlie darn near everything he knows, not that it took too long let me assure you. I always rather liked him in any case because he always had this polite habit of not leaping on me and growling in my face, something I wish more Garou learned."

Charlie sighed. Jo was an old friend, but she could be a little rough to deal with at times. He watched as the short young girl excitedly began to explain to Norman one of the battles he had been in with her, her oversized leather jacket billowing about her as she made excited arm motions to simulate the attacks of some Black Spiral Dancers.

Josephine Corven, the resident Corax of Detroit and an ally of the Raging Falls caern, though also having perhaps too close a relationship with the city Garou. The chatty were-raven had been a friend of his mentor, Dominic, and had helped Charlie when he and his pack had been forced to descend into The Pit to battle the Black Spiral Dancers there. She was also a spy of no small skill and a magnet for trouble of all sorts. He couldn't help but wonder what it was she was doing here sneaking around with… Charlie's thoughts suddenly caught up with him as he remembered that they had caught Jo spying on them.

He shook his head in surprised exasperation. He was well aware that Jo used her usual rapid-fire style of talking that seemed to result in information overload for anyone having to deal with her as a self-defense mechanism of sorts. She seemed to bank on acting calm enough and taking over the conversation through chatter so that she could perhaps prevent people from getting answers out of her or remembering they'd caught her doing something illegal. He was slightly ashamed that it had almost worked on him since he well knew her methods.

"Leona." He bowed his head to his packmate and motioned towards Jo's back, the young girl having already worked past Norman to chat with Broken Claw as she, quite obviously now it seemed, was making her way towards the door. No sooner had he spoken then a golden blur leaped upon Jo and drove her to the ground painfully.

"Ow!" Jo tried to squirm free but to no avail, finally she slumped to the ground in defeat and sighed. "You know Leona, you're lucky you're so much tougher then me or I would totally kick your ass for doing this."

"Jo, why were you spying on us?" Charlie crouched down by her head, intent on getting some answers as to why the best spy in Detroit, who had long been an ally of his caern as well as a personal friend, now seemed to be spying on him.

"Well, to be perfectly honest I wasn't spying on you, I was doing recon."

"Recon?"

"Yeah, y'see, I sorta had a couple of ravens keeping an eye on the place for me. So they come flapping up and are talking all about people busting in and I was like, damn. I literally said damn. Then I was all like, I better go down there and see what's what. Though I didn't say that part literally. I mean, I could of, I just didn't at the time. But with someone busting in I figured some bad mojo was going to be hitting the figurative fan and that I better go and check it out."

"I still think that's called spying."

"No," Jo rolled her large dark eyes at him as she gave her usual dimpled smirk, "it's called security work. It's only spying if you're busting into a place to snoop around. Speaking of which, what were you guys spying for?"

Charlie almost answered her, but managed to clamp down on the impulse. It was another habit of Jo's. she'd always be just honest and open enough with people to get them to start talking about things they shouldn't. He realized now that Jo had been pumping him and the others since she'd shown up, the questions about him earning a pack and how long they'd been in town suddenly seemed not so innocent. Marn had, after all, ordered utmost security, and Jo wasn't exactly known for keeping her mouth shut about secrets she'd discovered. She seemed to notice the betrayed look on his face and the smirk slipped away.

"Look," Jo sighed, "I honestly thought you guys were going to be some Wyrm creatures or something." She shrugged as she offered a wan smile. "Needless to say considering how you tagged and bagged me I'm literally happy that's not the case. After all, usually by the time the Wyrm has things mounted on top of you then you're about to have an unpleasant experience in at least one or two ways, sometimes both at the same time."

"Jo, stop talking for a minute, I have to think."

"Oh c'mon, like I haven't had captors pull that one on me before. I swear, I hear it all the time. My favorite trick is usually just to say 'sure' and then literally stay quiet for a minute. Then they invariably start asking more questions which means it's usually good for a cheap laugh when they start yelling at you to answer. Then you can have some fun by pointing out how they're changing the rules on you. Though now that I think about it often the yelling is paired with hitting, and I'm not so fond of the hitting parts. Kinda ruins the joke when your mouth is full of blood."

Charlie reached out and forcefully clamped his hand over her mouth, eventually shifting his thumb to help hold her jaw closed when she kept trying to talk anyway. It had been a few months since he'd seen Jo, and he'd forgotten how verbally tricky and obnoxious she was. He also couldn't believe how difficult she was being, there was no justifiable reason he could think of to explain why she was giving him the runaround like he was some enemy interrogator. It churned his stomach slightly, but he decided that if she wanted to treat him like an interrogator then he better start acting the part.

"Jo, I'm going to remove my hand to let you answer my question. I don't want you to break into a discussion about how my hand smelled or what happened to you last Saturday or whatever odd memory this situation reminds you of. All I want is a clear answer or, friend or not, I may just let Leona maul you slightly, and she'd probably do it."

Leona nodded slowly as she eyed Jo's head thoughtfully.

"Now, the question I want to hear answered is, what are you doing here?" He removed his hand.

"Checking out who was busting in," she rolled her eyes, "like I literally told you about three minutes ago." She was offering up her dimpled smirk again, almost as though she was daring him to try and wrest the truth from her.

"So you already knew about this building?"

"Now what would give you that idea? I'm leaning towards the fact I had it staked out, right? Is that what clued you in, when I told you I'd had the building staked out?" Behind him Charlie heard Tongue-tied bite back a snort of laughter. He jabbed his finger in her face, a flush of anger passing through him in response to her antics.

"Who were you watching it for and why?"

"Ah," Jo made a sound like a proud teacher in a classroom. "That's your first sensible question and it's going to be a little more awkward. You see, I'm not really at liberty to say."

"You not saying something?" Leona chuffed in laughter. "That is new thing."

"Oh bite me," Jo quipped but then quickly widened her eyes in alarm as Leona snarled at her. "It's just an expression! Charlie, tell her it's an expression."

But he was too distracted by his own thoughts to rush to Jo's aid. He knew she worked with his Uncle Marn and Raging Falls on a regular basis. However he also knew she worked with Syntax and The Jungle caern as well. Could she perhaps be working for the city Garou in spying on this structure? She hadn't been up at the caern on a regular schedule in months. Marn and the elders had been using this pack of pups to do some spy work in Detroit that normally would have been a job for Jo. That suggested that they had decided not to approach Jo on the issue. He knew the elders didn't want The Jungle caern aware of this mission, could they have suspected her as a potential information leak? Had the Detroit spymaster finally chosen a side in the uneasy cold war between the caerns?

"Are you working with Syntax?" The question burned raw in his throat.

"In general or in specific to this moment?" Jo asked almost too innocently. "Because in general, yes, I work, have worked, and plan to continue working with Syntax. If you're talking specifics, well, as I've said, I'm not at liberty to say."

"Can I ask why?"

"Of course you can, but I wouldn't be at liberty to say that either."

"You can't tell me anything?"

"I could tell you quite a lot of things actually, but, insofar as this specific topic? I know this whole concept of me 'not being at liberty to say' is complicated. But no, I can't tell you anything."

"Damnit Jo, don't put me in this situation," he snarled. He couldn't believe she was being so obtuse about this, especially not with her holier then thou habit of constantly trying to get the two caerns to cooperate. He could remember how much she'd harped on her neutrality and the idiocy of the anger between the caerns, yet here she was clearly working at some cross purpose to Raging Falls.

"For the record I didn't put you in this situation," the young girl noted pointedly. "As for the rest, I am sorry. Do whatever you think you have to."

He glanced up at Leona. She was a philodox, born under the half moon and predisposed as a judge of the Garou ways and a scenter of untruth. Leona's hackles bunched unhappily around her shoulders as she met his gaze and chuffed uneasily. Jo hadn't spoken any falsehoods, which meant she was quite intent not to help him understand why she was out here spying on him and the others.

"Fine, let's play it your way." He stood up and motioned to Tongue-tied and Norman. "I want you guys to restrain and keep a close eye on her. Whatever you do you do not let her get away from you or use any means to communicate with the Glass Walkers. Also, be careful about talking with her too much, she's smarter then she looks."

"Gee, thanks."

Charlie motioned Leona off and hauled Jo to her feet by her oversized leather jacket as he stared sharply at her. "I don't know what game you're playing, but don't try to act like the innocent party here. You're the one operating behind my back. I have my orders and I can't run the risk of you being a spy for Syntax."

"What about Bridget," asked Broken Claw uneasily.

"She's our next priority, we've got to find her and make sure she's not in danger."

"A pup's wandering around loose in here?" Jo shook her head. "You better find her fast, she's in major danger."

"From what?"

"I…" Jo pursed her lips and glanced away from him, at least having the decency to look a little ashamed. "I can't say, you better just find her quick."

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The voice always seemed tantalizingly close, and more then a few times Bridget had ducked around a corner expecting to find her goal only to be greeted by yet another dusty and deserted hallway. The worst part was that she was almost certain she could recognize the voice. But every time she tried to focus on the inflection or the tone her thoughts seemed to become muddled and turned in on themselves until she felt almost as lost in her own mind as she was starting to feel in these twisting passageways.

"Only a little further," came the soft whisper from behind a slightly open door labeled 'Morgue'.

"Subtle," Bridget noted as she nudged the door open with her foot and peered inside. Her eyes strained to penetrate the darkness of the room. But this time her search was rewarded by some movement in the back corner. "Who's there?"

The movement stopped. There was an uneasy moment as Bridget tried her hardest to peer through the darkness at the small blotch of deeper shadow lurking in the corner. Finally the figure eased itself forward in slow, faltering motions. Bridget's ears heard the harsh and grating sound of metal being dragged across cement and the unpleasant noise set her teeth on edge.

"Hello, lady." The voice was a horse whisper, and a painfully pale and thin hand emerged from the darkness to drag its owner into view. Bridget gasped as she looked down at the emaciated, pale, child with bedraggled red hair.

An image of her sisters flitted across her thoughts, bubbling unbidden to the surface in the same inexorable way their blood had bubbled out of them and across the thick carpet.

"My God." Bridget could see now the chains clasped upon the girl's ankles and wrists, and see where the pale creamy skin had been rubbed red and raw by the harsh iron. She dropped into a crouch as she took hold of the girl's slender shoulders as gently as she could. "Are ye okay?"

"I'm hungry," noted the girl weakly as she uneasily shied her face away from Bridget's gaze. "I've been good, you'll feed me today, right?"

Bridget looked around the room again, now spotting the signs that it was being used as a holding pen; the pile of rags in the corner, the nearby bucket that stank of human excretion, and the heavy chains that connected to a large iron spike driven into the center of the floor. Bridget's throat was dry and painful as she tried to form a few words of comfort. She couldn't seem to manage though, and instead settled for drawing the young girl up against her in a firm embrace as she stroked at her hair.

She was uncertain how long she crouched there, but finally she took a steadying breath and pushed the small girl back enough to look at her again. Bridget forced a cheerful expression onto her face and winked at her.

"Donnae worry, I'm going to get ye out of this. M'name's Bridget, what's yuirs?"

"Regan."

"Okay, Regan, first things first, let's get ye out of those chains. Kay?" Regan nodded quietly, apparently still a little unsure about the whole affair. Bridget stood up and walked over to where the chain was connected to the large iron spike embedded in the cement floor. She frowned at it, doubting she was capable of uprooting it without turning into her monster form, and not sure if she wanted to do that in front of the clearly already frightened girl. The chains were attached to Regan's wrists and ankles by manacles that all had hefty brass locks on them. Bridget paused as she cast an appraising glance over the manacles, noting for the first time the intricate runes etched into the metal in swirling and spidery scrawls.

"Do you know where the keys to these are?" Bridget touched the heavy metal manacles, the runes seemed to shift about under her touch and felt hot and painful to her fingertips. She scowled at the thought of how unpleasant they must be to the girl trapped within them.

"Grandma Idony has them," came the soft reply.

"Who's Grandma Idony?"

"I am, dearie." The crackly, old voice warbled through the room strongly. Bridget turned around to regard the stooped figure of an old woman in a worn pink floral dress leaning on her cane in the doorway. Grandma Idony's wrinkled face beetled up as she peered through her thick glasses. "Who are you and what are you doing to my lovely little granddaughter?"

"Yuir lovely granddaughter?" Bridget stood up, placing herself between the old woman and Regan. "About the time ye chain her up in an abandoned building ye lose the right to call her that." Bridget took a few steps forward, spotting a set of worn brass keys hanging half out of the worn pocket of Idony's woven sweater. "The keys, old woman," Bridget pointed, "give them to me. I'm taking Regan out of here."

"Taking her out of here?" Idony chuckled, her thick wrinkled jowls bobbling about her face as she shook with suppressed mirth. "No, child, no I don't think you are."

"Be careful Bridget," Regan's hands tugged at the back of her duster, "I don't think Grandma likes you."

"Tch, the feelings mutual." Bridget pulled away and stalked forward. "Give me the keys, ye old bag, or I'll pop ye like an old balloon."

She wasn't quite sure what happened next. One moment she was reaching for the keys and the next she was slamming into the far wall behind her with amazing force. She hissed in pain as it felt like one of her ribs popped out of place and jabbed sharply into something important. She dropped to the ground in an ungraceful sprawl and gagged as she coughed up some blood into her mouth.

"The hell?" Bridget glanced up in surprise to see Grandma Idony slowly ambling forward, her cane clicking across the floor and her arm wobbling about unsteadily as she used it help brace herself. A wide grin was on the old woman's face, her lips stretching unnaturally from ear to ear. Her face almost looked like that of a bloated frog wearing too much pale foundation and with garish lip and cheek color applied too liberally.

"Now, dearie, what was that about popping someone?" Idony flashed a grin, her teeth a rotting morass within her blackened gums as a stench of decay washed over Bridget like a physical slap. "It sounded rather wonderfully dreadful."

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Leona had taken point as they'd made their way down the winding staircase, silently padding down the dusty cement steps her keen nose sniffing the air. It wasn't hard for her to pick up Bridget's scent and Charlie and the others followed in her wake, trusting her senses to lead them true. Behind him Charlie could hear Jo starting up yet another whispered conversation with Tongue-tied, the young man apparently quite content to chat with Jo since he was apparently enamored to have finally met the 'Gaian Super Spy; he'd heard about so much in some of the epic poems and songs. Norman walked next to them, his face stern and his back rigid, clearly worried about his pack mate. Broken Claw drifted along silently in the rear, a pale ghost dogging their steps.

With the others distracted Charlie quickened his pace slightly to move closer to Leona. "What do you think about the situation with Jo," he whispered softly as Leona paused to sniff the air at an intersection. The she wolf peered over her shoulder at him, her eyes glittering in the darkness.

"What situation?"

"My uncle, Marn, he gave us orders to keep out of sight and not let any of the Glass Walkers know about our mission here." Charlie glanced back over his shoulder to see the spy's wide dark eyes flitting across him as he whispered to Leona. He felt his back stiffen slightly, fearing that she was somehow eavesdropping. But then again, Jo's eyes were always darting around, so perhaps it was coincidence. "Don't you think it's a little suspicious that suddenly Jo, who we know works with the Walkers, shows up in the middle of a job we're supposed to keep hidden from them?"

"She spies, it's what Gaia made the Corax for." Leona's ears twitched in a shrug as she motioned him to follow her down the hallway to the left.

"I know the ravens are supposed to help us by finding and reporting secrets," he growled slightly tensely. "But don't you agree with me, that she's hiding something and is up to no good?"

"You pack leader, I agree with what you say." Leona didn't even pause in her tracking as she growled the answer. "You should take wolf form, easier to smell friends in that form when human thought doesn't get in way. You let human thought confuse you a lot."

"But-" The words died in Charlie's throat as one of the most alluring women he'd ever seen slipped around the corner. Her sparkling green eyes glittered brightly as ruby red lips slipped into a small smile as she saw him. She moved closer, confident yet clearly still slightly cautious.

"Greetings, brave warrior." Her voice was sweet as honey and washed pleasantly across him, causing tense muscles to relax.

"Hello," he wished he could think of something cleverer to say, but his brain seemed to suddenly feel like it was moving through molasses. Something struck him as a little odd as Leona growled out a greeting in wolf-speak. Certainly he could understand it, but it was odd to presume a human female would.

It was almost painful, but he managed to tear his gaze aware from the vision in front of him to glance down at Leona. The sleek she-wolf sat there with a silly eager expression on her face, her tail raised and an excited quiver to her body. Charlie blinked in confusion as he glanced back to the approaching woman. That was odd, Leona was very rarely excited to meet strangers. Did she, perhaps, also find the stranger attractive? But why would she, Garou or no Leona had always shown a preference for the beauty of the wolf form over that of the human.

"You seem troubled, my beautiful one," said the woman huskily as she moved closer yet, the smells wafting off of her as soporific and wondrous as her voice. "Allow me to comfort you, and you may comfort and protect me."

"I…" Something was wrong here, but he couldn't quite seem to put his finger on it. He glanced over his shoulder, wondering why the others hadn't come around the corner yet. The hallway behind him seemed so dark now that it was hard to see anything that way. Everything was so muddled right now. If only he could clear his thoughts, make them clearer. Suddenly he remembered what Leona had said only moments before about the clarity of wolf thinking.

He reached into himself, touching the primal well of inner anger that always bubbled just below the surface. His form shifted and wavered, his slacks seemed to melt into him as thick gray fur sprouted across his body. Charlie dropped to all fours as his bones and muscle reshaped and reformed themselves into those of a wolf. His mind seemed even sharper now, well aware that there were only a few important considerations. In front of him the woman suddenly seemed to waver and shift as well, her form changing to that of a ghostly beautiful white wolf.

Everything dropped into place in a second as Charlie realized why Leona had been speaking in wolf to the new arrival. He snarled in annoyance, his anger washing through him and shaking off the last vestiges of the creature's power. It seemed to realize it had lost connection with him, as the smile dropped from its face and it paused in its advance. Charlie allowed the anger to continue flowing through him as he shifted yet again, his body gaining muscle and mass as he shifted back to standing upon his hind legs. Shaggy brown fur grew thicker and longer to better protect him and his muzzle elongated and thickened as it was filled with powerful fangs. He rose up to his full height, his ears brushing the ceiling as he roared in challenge to the foul creature.

"So foolish," trilled the creature as its form shifted again back to an eerily beautiful humanoid shape of indeterminate gender. Pale lips stretched unnaturally wide across its unblemished face to reveal blackened gums and a lolling grey tongue. "You don't actually think you can escape, do you?"

"We are warriors of Gaia," Charlie growled as next to him Leona shifted forms as well. She gained muscle and size as she shifted to hispo, become a potent prehistoric wolf of fearsome size and strength. "Who are you to think you can stop us?"

"Who are we?" The creature trilled happily as dozens of small slits opened up across its smooth white skin. Hundreds of scuttling black insects with gleaming red mandibles began to swarm forth from within its body to trail down along its limbs and trace across the floor and walls. "We are known as The Incubi, servants of Idony, Guardian of the Damned." From the hallway behind the creature came three more, just like it. They crawled along the walls and ceiling like bloated white spiders, their tongues lapping eagerly across their gnashing teeth as slits split open their flesh as well to release choking swarms of winged insects. "You say you are 'warriors of Gaia'? We say that here, you are nothing more then our next meal!"

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Broken Claw was bringing up the rear, as usual. He had discovered that even his pack mates, without even thinking about it, tended to prefer not putting him in the front. Not that he minded, not really. He had a deformity that perhaps affected his combat abilities, thus it was perhaps for the best he didn't take the front. Besides, there was a certain honor and dignity to guarding the rear in any case. After all, any surprise attack was likely to come from behind and he was sure he could serve ably to warn his pack mates of any coming danger.

In front of him Tongue-tied was distracted, as usual. He had finally found in Jo someone who seemed to love talking about random topics as much as he did. The two were in the middle of an excited conversation about one of the epic poems of the Raging Falls Garou of which Jo seemed to have some issues with the historical accuracy.

Norman walked in front of them. His broad shoulders slumped somewhat, no doubt in helpless frustration at the thought of Bridget wandering around alone in this strange place. Norman and Bridget often fought over minor matters but, for his part, Norman had always shown no less concern for her well being then any of his other pack mates. Broken Claw often envied him the easy grace with which he seemed to live up to Garou ideals.

Broken Claw often strove for that calm inner spirit that could serve as guide to the angry energy that dwelled within every Garou. Yet he worried he often got the mix wrong, fearing himself sometimes too complacent and at other times too feral. He had clearly been too complacent when Bridget had wandered off, since he should have had awareness of each of his pack mates at all times when on a mission. He needed to work harder and be better then that if he was to prove his value to the others.

"You hear that?"

Broken Claw was shaken out of his thoughts as Jo suddenly stopped in her tracks and peered over her shoulder back the way they had come. In front of her Norman slowed down to look back as well while Leona and Charlie, who were perhaps too far ahead to hear her, continued around a corner in their search.

"I…" Broken Claw peered back down the dark hallway, the only real light coming from a few cracked windows that let in feeble rays of moonlight. "I heard nothing," he slumped his shoulder guiltily, "but I wasn't paying as much attention as I should have been."

"No big deal," grunted Norman as he motioned for the others to hurry up, "c'mon, we can't let the others get too far ahead of us."

"No," Jo shook her head slightly as she continued to study the hallway behind them, her large dark eyes darting to and fro as she narrowed them suspiciously. "Something changed."

Broken Claw couldn't sense anything wrong. But then again Josephine Corven was a Corax, and the wereravens were used to plumbing secrets out of dangerous places and due to their questionable ability to defend themselves tended to have a highly regarded danger sense. He suspected if she felt something was off she was right, but then again this whole place felt 'off' to him, so perhaps she was just picking up on that.

He peered down the hallway as Norman again ordered them to get moving, noting that Charlie and Leona were getting further ahead of them by the second and that they shouldn't be separated. Tongue-tied grabbed Jo almost apologetically and began to drag her along with him. Broken Claw paused a moment longer, staring into the murky and dim hallway for another moment. Suddenly the window furthest away from him seemed to blink out of sight, as though it had been covered in a tarp. Broken Claw blinked in confusion, wondering if it had been a trick of his eyes.

Then the next most distant window seemed to be swallowed in darkness.

"We have a problem," he announced loudly as he began to back peddle towards the others as the approaching sheet of darkness consumed yet another window's feeble trickle of light.

From out of her oversized jacket Jo produced a large flashlight which she thumbed on, shining a bright lance of light back along the path they had come. Broken Claw gasped in amazement at what he saw.

Bugs, thousands upon thousands of crawling insects coated the floor, ceiling, and walls as they advanced in a giant tide. Further back amongst the swarm he could see larger figures, perhaps human sized, seemingly coated in the roiling masses of insects as they drove them forward.

"By Gaia," whispered Norman softly.

"No," Tongue-tied shook his head slowly as he began to shift upwards into his crinos form, "somehow I really don't think so."

The insects surged forward in a droning, chittering, mass of flicking wings and biting mandibles.


End file.
